


Hold on

by ferreuscelo



Series: Freba Series [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Mention of Necrophilia, One Shot, Sexual Content, also, if you came to read a Francis Dolarhyde fic you may have an idea of all the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferreuscelo/pseuds/ferreuscelo





	Hold on

It’s a pity.

The sticky sensation wouldn’t be pleasing for anyone but it is the factual proof that he has submerged into His world. And that once again, blood tastes as good as the nectar of life, because after all, it is that. That iron taste that nothing else possesses, the texture and the meaning behind it. But there’s another fluid that spreads on his body, his member, which hasn’t been properly used due to well, keeping himself safe. His penis is wet with his come, and the Selected One hasn’t been properly marked.

Yes, it is a pity.

Soaked in the family’s blood, the man stares at the moon with a satisfied expression after the initial adrenaline rush of the kill. The woman was tight, but oh, it felt so good. The One was very pleased and nothing makes Dolarhyde ‘happier’ than to serve him this way. Because everything helps, and He knows better. He always does.

Most mortals would reject Him but of course, they can’t know what they are missing because humans rarely embrace what they truly are. He is a killing machine, but also something superior that no one would be able to explain due to his uniqueness. No one has ever seen his worth except Him and that’s all he needs to keep on breathing.

(Not all, really.)

(But he won’t admit it.)

(For now.)

There’s something else pulling the strings of his life, or rather attempting to cut His to set him free. Hah, freedom. The socially accepted concept is laughable to the point that he could never fully explain it to anyone without having the other person calling the authorities to institutionalize him in three seconds. Free men are rare, most must hide and survive in the sewers of the morally acceptable with the resignation that they will never, ever be released from the cage they must build around themselves. And they are the only ones who hold the key. Dolarhyde, in that aspect, is still afraid to use it on a daily basis. He will escape soon, or at least that’s what He says.

This is another victory over the weakness of the world. A personal fulfilling experience too. He’s becoming stronger, not physically only. He can feel the power running in his veins, the fearless aura surrounding him. It’s all thanks to Him, but it’s also his doing. It’s amazing how much He fuels his confidence in what he does, how much He provides him of a clear mind to reach his objective.

The blood covers his chest, right over the organ that keeps his pumping and he closes his eyes, curving the corners of his lips upwards. He can feel it, his skin growing scales, strong like steel, his back morphing into wings and his fangs progressively growing, sharp like blades, meant to tear flesh apart, destroy, transform, consume. He’s at the verge of tears because he feels alive, indestructible, real, and the cool breeze of the night fights the warmth of his burning body.

The same she loves so much.

There’s a twitch in his hand at the thought to push it away.

It’s toxic.

…

He sees her foot tapping on the floor and he knows he fucked up. It’s rare for him to be late but he had to finish with his 'research’, which consists in nothing else than masturbating in front of the screen while his projector shows the tape of the next family again and again. She looks beautiful with her light cream colored dress contrasting with her dark skin and he remains a few seconds observing her from a certain distance. Just that.

He excuses himself with her and she forgives him with a cheeky and half-annoyed grin, the one only she can bear and he has grown fond of. At first he thought she was mocking him but the more he got to know her, the easier it has been to read Reba. She is, indeed, his only connection to this mortal world and he’s learned a lot. Which is useful to predict others. He has always seen them from the distance and getting involved with one of them is a satisfying experience, and if it provides physical pleasure, the better.

(But that’s not all she provides)

They kiss in a dark alley, like adolescents hiding from their parents, her back against the cold wall behind and his arms around her waist by the restaurant they picked to have dinner together. They didn’t get the chance to order when Dolarhyde stood up, took her hand and delivered her to destination. He has learned with the last few days that he needs to touch her at all times and he can’t literally get enough of her. And she provides him what he wants willingly. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s his woman, the one who was destined to him. A gift.

_She’s a tool. It’s not going to last and you know it well._

Dolarhyde’s hand moves down to slide under her dress and tug at one of the strings of her underwear.

_This is all that resumes to it, right? You want to fuck her._

His lips brush against her cheek and she he whispers what he’s going to do to her. He has become vocal and that’s strange but well received by the woman who eagerly encourages him to not stop.

_What are you going to do, when the moment comes?_

He’s hard, awfully so and his pants are tight against his erection. He forcefully pulls her underwear down and she complains that it will get dirty but steps out of it anyways. He answers that she doesn’t need it. Walking all their way back to her house without them is going to be an interesting experience for the woman.

_Don’t you dare ignore me. She’s dominating you. You’re such a poor joke of a man._

He bites her jaw as he pulls down the zipper of his pants and he’s not gentle. She’s going to wear a bruise by the end of the night, but she doesn’t complain. Moans, rather and her fingers dig deeper on his back.

_She should have cut it._

He doesn’t extend it any longer. The penetration is the best part because he can feel her flesh wrapped around the head and she welcomes him willingly, no matter the place (in rare occasions he has to resign himself when she says 'no’ because she can be quite tough sometimes) or the circumstance. Strong hands lift her from her thighs and he pushes her against the bricks going all the way inside. He grunts as he touches the back of her entrance and rests his forehead against the woman’s, breathing heavily. She reaches out with a gentle kiss and a request to move and he complies.

_You’re such a waste. All of this is a waste._

The muscles on his ass cheeks tighten at the action as he drives inside her again and again, forcing her back to hit against the wall and he doesn’t take his time to go slow at first, no. There’s urgency and it comes from both sides. Her hands on his nape and her legs tightly wrapped around his thighs could tell anyone the desire to become one. Because it’s just like that. Animal sounds escape his mouth and he holds back when a white light from a car almost illuminates the couple.

_She’d look so beautiful, pale and beaten. You must consider it, boy._

His thrusts become more violent and his body is tightly pressed against hers, to the point of making it difficult for her to breathe, but she doesn’t complain. She has gotten used to Dolarhyde’s wildness.

_You_

A muffled loud moan from her under his hand covering her mouth.

_are_

Wet sounds in the air from their sexes together, meeting again and again.

_a_

Spurts of come enter her body as the man climaxes and bites his own arm hard in order to silence himself from screaming in pleasure.

_mistake._

Sated and recovering their breathing, the lovers rest against each other in the middle of the cold night, spent, complete. Them, alone in the world.

United.

...

One.

 


End file.
